


Looking Glass

by killabeez



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: salt_burn_porn, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Exhibitionism, Facials, First Time, Incest Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 08, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2017-12-28 10:20:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/pseuds/killabeez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets an idea in his head. That never goes well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn in 24 hours. Prompt from locknkey: _doppleganger._ **Please note:** the Sam/Dean and Jensen/Jared are implied, not explicit in the story. (I apologize for the unoriginal title, but, 24 hours.) This was written before Season 9 started, so slightly AU, I suppose.

Sam knows it's too easy. People don't just magically recover from subatomic damage even angels can't heal, so he knows Dean's keeping something from him. But Dean says he didn't make a deal with anyone, and every time Sam tries to bring up the subject, Dean says he's not hiding anything.

Sam can't leave it alone, but he has to. He made his choice; he did what Dean asked. When push came to shove and Dean asked him to let it go, to back down from the Trials, he couldn't say no. This one time, he couldn't let Dean down. Couldn't leave him, not again. Every other time, he'd trusted himself, took his own path, and look where that got him? So this time when Dean asked, he said okay. 

Now he's got to live with that, and they don't stand a snowball's chance against Hell and the fallout from Heaven if they don't stick together, so he can't push things. Can't force Dean to talk. They have to work together. Dean said to trust him, and what is Sam supposed to say to that?

He tries. He does. He tries to trust Dean. But it eats at him. Weeks pass, and it eats at him. It gets so bad, he catches himself wishing Chuck was still around.

It's when he's sorting relics that he writes a label on the bone of a lesser saint, and it hits him like a ton of bricks: Balthazar's spell. 

From that moment on, it's inevitable; Dean's left him no choice.

* * *

Once the idea is planted, he can't forget about it. The spell didn't work for them before, but that's because they tried it from the wrong end. He knows it'll work. That's not the problem. The problem is, he can't go to Bizarro-land himself—he'll have no way back. It'll have to be the other way around.

The idea of bringing a civilian here, though, things being what they are—even some douchebag actor with an alpaca in his back yard—isn't something he can do in good conscience. The bunker's safe enough, but his world isn't. If something went wrong... he can't. And even if he could, the guy would have to be in exactly the right place at the right time for it to work. 

That's not insurmountable, though, he catches himself thinking. He could modify a locator spell... No, it doesn't matter. Even if it would work, that still doesn't change the fact that he can't do it. He puts the whole thing out of his mind.

It's later that night as he's lying in bed, that he thinks, it couldn't be _his_ counterpart anyway. It would have to be Dean's. Jensen was the guy's name. If anyone would know the details of what Dean's done, it would be the actor who played him, not Mr. Tanning Bed. They had to memorize those scripts. If Sam's going to find out exactly what Dean did, he needs the guy who can tell him word for word.

* * *

It's a matter of time after that. Dean's avoiding him, and as a result, Sam has too much time on his hands. That never ends well.

One day, Kevin tracks down rumors of a book he needs to help him with his translation of the Angel tablet. Whatever good that might do them is anyone's guess, but it's something to do.

"Someone's gotta stay here and watch Crowley," Sam says, with just the right edge of pissiness in his tone. 

"Well, yeah, obviously."

Dean even apologizes to him, and Sam manages to keep a straight face, which should win him some sort of acting award.

"You sure you're okay?" Dean asks on his way out the door. He looks so concerned, Sam almost feels guilty.

"I'm fine, Dean. I'll be fine."

* * *

It works.

* * *

The first thing Jensen Ackles says when he lays eyes on Sam is, "Mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

Sam's relieved. At least he's not freaking out. Projecting calm the way he's learned over years of questioning vics, Sam says, "Remember that episode a couple years ago, where Sam and Dean end up on the set of _Supernatural,_ the TV show?"

"The French Mistake."

"Excuse me?"

"That was the title, dumbass. 'The French Mistake.' What about it?"

Belatedly, Sam realizes Jensen hasn't fully registered that he's not standing on a TV set. He thinks Sam is Jared whatever-his-name-was. His co-star. 

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm not him. I mean—" Sam takes a deep breath. "This is gonna be kind of hard to believe."

* * *

"You're right. That is hard to believe."

"But you do believe me."

"Honestly? I want to say no. But whoever the hell you are, you're not Jared, and if you're not Jared, that begs the question."

"How can you be so sure?"

"This? Not a set." Jensen gestures around them. "Four walls. Also: nine years. You kind of get to know a guy. And on his best day? Not that good of an actor."

"Really?" Sam frowns. "I thought he was the star."

Jensen laughs. "Yeah, right."

Sam studies his expression. "So, you don't think I'm crazy."

"I didn't say that. I mean, either you're some guy who happens to be Jared's twin brother and thinks he's Sam Winchester, which, hello, not winning any sanity prizes there. Or, and as weird as it is to hear myself saying this, we're in a bunker from World War II, you _are_ Sam Winchester, and... no offense, but—"

Sam grimaces. "No, I get it. Of course. You would know, right?" He should be used to complete strangers knowing all about his life by now.

"So, what can I do you for, Sam? Assuming this isn't a social call."

"Wow, you are taking this really well. I, um." Sam scrubs at the back of his head. "I need to ask you something."

* * *

"What do you mean you don't know? You have to know. When Balthazar threw us into your world, we landed at the same place, same time, everything. Whatever Dean did to me, it was weeks ago."

Jensen says, "They don't tell us stuff that far in advance. Knowing the writers, Dean'll keep lying his face off and Sam won't find out crap until midseason, and we won't know much before that. Look, man, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's not your fault." Sam pushes his hair back, then cracks his neck. He's been tense for too long. "I should get you home. I'm sorry. This was a huge mistake."

Jensen shrugs. "Not like I was doing anything. Just hanging out in my trailer playing X-Box."

Sam gives him a curious look. It had been after eleven when he worked the spell. "You do that a lot?"

"What, X-Box?"

"Spend the night in your trailer."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." When Sam says nothing, Jensen says, "I kind of went through a bad breakup recently, if you must know. Don't really have anyplace else to go."

"What about Jared?"

Jensen frowns. "What about him?"

"Nothing, it's just, he's got that huge house. He probably wouldn't even notice you were there."

"That is true."

Sam nods in sympathy. "I guess you're still not talking, then."

"Excuse me?"

"When we were over there, everybody kept saying it was weird that Dean and I were talking to each other. I just thought..."

"What? That we kissed and made up?"

"I guess. I mean, it sounded like you guys used to be friends."

"Yeah, not so much. Not for a long time." Jensen grimaces. "I'm the one who screwed it up in the first place, so it's not like I have a leg to stand on."

"I get that," Sam says.

"Shit happens," Jensen says, like a man who's still trying to convince himself. "I thought we were on the same page, but we weren't. Things got weird, and then Jared got married, and now we work on a TV show together, playing brothers who can't get their signals straight either."

Sam huffs a laugh at that. "Things have been better between me and Dean. Sort of." Jensen gives him a look, and Sam realizes he knows everything that's happened. "I'm not fooling anybody, am I?"

"Maybe, but I'm not anybody." There's an awkward pause, and Sam realizes he's staring a little too closely. "Something on my face?" Jensen asks.

"Sorry, it's just, you keep reminding me of him." 

"I guess after nine years, it's to be expected." 

"You're easier to talk to, I'll give you that," Sam says with a smile.

"And you're a really terrible actor, from what I hear." 

"The worst," Sam admits. "Possibly that ever lived. Unless you count Dean."

"Nice to know I can't be so easily replaced."

"No. Trust me."

Jensen laughs. It's a heart-lifting sound, so much lighter and more carefree than he's heard Dean in a long, long time. And Jensen is... really beautiful. Not that Sam didn't realize that before, but. He blushes. 

Jensen notices.

"So, tell me the truth. How alike are we?"

"You and Dean? Not that different, I guess. And then again, completely different. It's hard to explain." 

"Yeah."

Sam can't help asking, "What about me?"

"What, you and Jared?" Sam wishes he had a name for Jensen's expression. "Not even close. Trust me, that's a compliment."

"I kind of got the idea he's..."

"...a bit of a douchebag? Yeah. Wasn't always like that, though."

Something in his face or his voice makes Sam want to help, even though he doesn't have the first clue how. Before he can think better of it, he says, "Listen, you want something to drink? We got a whole bar here."

"That's right, it's real, isn't it?"

"As real as it gets." He feels guilty, knows he shouldn't encourage Jensen to stay. But maybe they both need someone to talk to.

Jensen thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. "Sure, why not? We're not shooting tomorrow."

* * *

"I shouldn't have said that, before. Jared's really not a bad guy. Trust me, I've met a lot worse. It's just, I wish it could be the way it used to be, you know?"

"Yeah. I hear you."

Jensen studies him. "Dean was pretty rough on you last season. Last year, I mean."

Sam shrugs, uncomfortable. "I can't blame him. After everything he's given up for me, I can see how he would feel. Doesn't matter what I do, I keep letting him down."

"If it makes you feel any better, me and Jared didn't like it, either. The whole, Purgatory, not looking for Dean thing. Leaving Kevin out in the cold. Didn't sound like something Sam would—like something you'd do." 

Sam can't say much to that. It feels like that person was somebody else, honestly.

"But then I thought about everything you'd been through. The Cage, Lucifer, the mental institution—I mean, that's some rough shit, Sam. And you held it together for a long time. Way longer than most people could have."

"Look, can we not talk about this?"

"You're right. It's none of my business. It's just, I get it." 

Sam says, "Thanks." But he's caught by the way Jensen says _I git it_ more than _I get it_ —one of a thousand miniscule differences that make all the difference. 

Jensen says, "Don't mention it." 

Sam sips at his whiskey. His instincts are a mess. It's been so long since he felt attraction like this for someone, he barely remembers what it feels like—not to mention the obvious issues. But on some level he can't explain, having Jensen here relaxes the heart-deep tension in his chest, and he really needs that right now.

Jensen's glass is mostly empty, so Sam pours him a refill. Jensen raises an eyebrow. "You trying to get me drunk, sailor? Because I grew up in Texas. Got your work cut out for you."

Sam blushes again, deeper than before. It's not his imagination that Jensen's flirting with him, but what he's not sure of is if Jensen does that with everyone. Does he feel this inexorable pull between them, too?

"You're ahead of me, then," he says. At Jensen's look, he says, "Never did have much of a tolerance."

Jensen's eyebrows arch, speculative. "That right?"

"Plus, it's been a while." He doesn't just mean the drinking.

"Tell me something, Sam Winchester."

"What's that?"

"How long've we got before your brother gets back?"

* * *

Jensen's mouth is—Christ—really soft, and very hot. Sam has never kissed a guy in his life—other things, but not that. He's pretty sure he's ruined for it now, and he's okay with that, as long as they don't ever have to stop.

Jensen has him backed up against the table, legs bracketing Sam's. Sam makes a low sound deep in his chest. He pulls Jensen closer; Jensen's fingers tug at his hair, and it feels so good he's embarrassed by his reaction: a hard-on so insistent he's light-headed from the rush of blood south. He hasn't been with anyone since Amelia, hasn't even thought about sex in so long, his body feels like it's tripping over itself trying to catch up.

And on the heels of that, it registers—Jensen probably _knows that._ He knows pretty much everything there is to know about Sam, and Sam knows almost nothing about him except that he has a freaking fish tank in his trailer and he's—holy crap—pretty much the best kisser Sam has ever met.

All at once, Jensen's lips suck off his with a pop. "Stop," Jensen says, so calm Sam obeys without thinking. He tries not to pant into the space between their mouths, but it isn't easy. 

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Stop thinking," Jensen clarifies. "It's good. Go with it." 

Sam lets out a gusty breath and rests his forehead against Jensen's, eyes squeezed shut. "Easy for you to say."

Jensen bites at his throat, then licks his neck and ear to soothe the sting. His voice is a growl that makes goosebumps roll over Sam's skin. "Dude, what did I just tell you?"

Sam meets his eyes, because it's easier that way to tell himself _he's not Dean._ He's not. Still, "I can't," Sam says, though he's shaking, his dick so hard he can barely think. He holds on to Jensen like he'll drown if he doesn't.

Jensen doesn't give him an inch. "Yeah, actually. You can." His gaze roams over Sam's face, fixing on his mouth. Sam's helpless when Jensen's tongue licks in against his again, a powerful persuasion. Sam's hands come up and press against Jensen's head, trying to hold him steady even as Jensen pushes in past his defenses, again and again.

"Doesn't this." Sam breaks off to kiss Jensen again, unable to stop himself going back for more. "I mean, doesn't it—"

"What? Freak me out? Trust me. No." Jensen's thighs are their own distraction, strong where they press against Sam's. He grips Sam's jaw then, looks straight into Sam's eyes, and his voice doesn't lose any of its cool, understated drawl when he says, "Am I gonna have to blow you right here to prove it? Or are you gonna take me back to your room and fuck me stupid before your brother gets back?"

A groan fights its way up from Sam's chest. This might be the worst idea he's ever had, and that's saying something. But the challenge in Jensen's whole body is irresistible, and it's not like he's going to get another chance.

"Yeah," he manages. "Fuck, okay."

Jensen's throat is gorgeous, smooth and strong and warm under Sam's mouth. As soon as he tastes Jensen there, he wants more. "No biting," Jensen warns him just in time. "Collette'll kill me."

"Collette?" Sam asks.

"My makeup artist."

A soft laugh escapes Sam. This isn't Dean. But the guy knows Dean—and Sam—inside and out. Or some version of them, anyway. He's watched "Sam" having sex on camera. He's probably watched _Dean_ having sex on camera.

That thought shouldn't do it for him, but Sam's past trying to puzzle out all the ways in which he is fucked in the head. Jensen smells really good, and he's willing, and Sam wants this. He wants a lot of things, but this, he can have.

He pushes off the table, one arm looped around Jensen's waist to keep him close. "That what you want? For me to fuck you?" If this were Dean, that would be a move of aggression, and Dean would respond in kind, some smart-ass comment and a physical counterattack. Jensen, on the other hand, somehow manages to melt into Sam's body without anything like submission.

"Hell, yes. If you're in, I'm in." 

The way he's looking at Sam should be illegal. Luckily, Sam's used to breaking the law.

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

The thought occurs to Sam that they could do this in Dean's room, in Dean's _bed._ He isn't serious, because he isn't suicidal—not at the moment, anyway. It revs him like a jolt of adrenalin just the same, and by the time they get to Sam's room, he's got the technicolor details going in his head.

"How do you want to do this?" Jensen asks, his hands wound tight in Sam's hair.

The thought of fucking him face to face is too much to deal with. Sam doesn't think he could keep it together, for one thing, and living with that memory while having conversations with Dean over research and ammo would probably kill him.

"You good with hands and knees?"

"Depends. Are you?" Jensen is still pressed up tight against him, and he feels incredible. Also, incredibly well-hung. Sam's mouth waters. 

"Honestly? No idea. I've only done this once."

The eyebrow again. "Sam. You really do need to get out more."

Sam huffs a laugh. "Tell me about it."

Jensen palms him then, and—Jesus, Sam is hot for it. Jensen looks impressed. "Please tell me it was with a guy, at least."

Sam's face heats. "Yeah." He coughs. "I mean—yeah. I meant once with a guy."

Jensen's lips quirk. "We should be good, then. You got anything?"

Not that he's used them lately, but Sam's still got half a box of condoms stuffed into his underwear drawer. It's on the tip of his tongue to say yes when he realizes Jensen means lube. "Um. Yeah. Gimme a minute."

He's no Dean Winchester, but Sam's had his share of sex. Because Dean is his brother, he's learned a heck of a lot—via face-stabbingly embarrassing second-hand accounts—about substances that should and should not be used as personal lubricants in a pinch. He's reasonably sure that if Dean were home, he could find some kind of lube in Dean's stuff, but knowing Dean, he took it with him just in case. Sam thinks it's been even longer for Dean than it has been for him, but old habits die hard. More importantly, he doesn't want to waste time searching Dean's room when he has perfectly good methylcellulose handy.

Thank God for the Men of Letters, and never let it be said that Sam Winchester isn't good in a crisis. 

"There you are," Jensen says when Sam returns, though it's been less than five minutes. "Was wondering if we were gonna have to go to plan B."

Sam had words, he swears he did. But Jensen is gloriously naked and stretched out on Sam's bed, all of him tan and lean and sculpted, his hand making lazy motions on his—jesus—perfectly shaped dick. In the warm lamplight, Sam can make out the faint dusting of freckles across his broad shoulders. His mouth waters with the hunger to taste each and every one of them.

"We good?" Jensen asks, with a glance at the little mason jar in Sam's hand.

"We're good," Sam says. His voice betrays him. He clears his throat, and Jensen's face quirks in that sardonic, appreciative expression Sam recognizes as his usual response to a wide range of stimuli. He doesn't, for a second, stop the lazy stroking.

"Then get over here." His eyelids lower, his gaze knowing. "Unless you'd rather watch?"

Sam's mouth is dry. Watching wouldn't suck. He's fully hard again, his shorts sticky with precome and his nipples tight at the thought of watching Jensen jerk off. Of jerking off over him, coming all over his bare skin. On his dick, and thighs. Maybe his model-gorgeous face. Fuck. He could really get behind that, in fact. He's practically on the edge just from thinking about it.

"Maybe both?" Jensen asks, his voice dropping into a range that does things to Sam's heart rate. "Think you can handle it?" He spreads his legs, displaying himself more fully.

"Pretty sure," Sam says, his own voice hoarse. Every minute Jensen's here is risky, and he knows that, but Sam's body is one hundred and ten percent on board and feels as energized as if the Trials never happened. It's been almost a year since he had sex with another person. Getting it up twice is not going to be a problem.

Sam moves into the room, closing the door behind him. Jensen settles in, watching him as he puts the jar down and bends over to untie his boots. When Sam stands up and reaches for the hem of his shirt, Jensen's eyes follow every move. Sam flushes at the attention, aware of every inch of Jensen's skin on his bedspread, of the way Jensen's cock pearls up when Sam strips off both his shirts in one shot. 

Jensen's lips part, and his fingertips gather up the drop of fluid, spreading it around the head. There's something else in his eyes, some edge of emotion Sam can't read; then it's gone, and he licks his lips. "Fucking gorgeous, man. Can't wait for you to fuck me."

Sam's heart is pounding. This is a terrible idea, and he should put a stop to it before it goes any further, but he's kidding himself if he thinks he's going to stop and he knows it.

"Me, too," he gets out.

Jensen jerks his chin. "Jeans, too. I want to see you."

Sam hurries to comply. He's so hard he has to press a palm against himself before he can strip off his underwear, and if Jensen's starting to get wet for him, Sam's already there, precome damp on his shorts and sticky on his skin. He sees Jensen swallow, his green eyes locked on Sam's equipment. Sam's embarrassed, but he's also too turned on to care. He cups a hand around himself, his balls already tight and heavy, and Jensen bites his lip. 

"Fuck, man, you're so sweet. I love it. How long's it been for you?" At Sam's expression, he clarifies, "With a guy, I mean."

Sam's lips cant. He squeezes himself to try and keep a handle on things and moves closer to the bed. "Don't you know? Figured you knew everything about me."

"Nah, man. It's not that kind of show." Jensen's hand moves a little faster as Sam draws close, and Sam sees him take a deep breath to control it. "We're on like the teen network. Strictly PG-13."

It surprises a laugh out of Sam. Of course they are—because his and Dean's lives can always get more ridiculous. "Figures," he says.

"Yeah," Jensen breathes. "Fuck, man. This is unreal. You even have the freaking tattoo." 

"Tell me about it." Their eyes meet; Jensen grins a little, and Sam's heart skips a beat. Just how much _does_ Jensen know about him? Besides the obvious, how many of his weird issues with his brother actually make it onto a TV show made for teenagers?

"Too much thinking again," Jensen says. He spreads his legs further and cants his head back, stretching one arm over his head to give Sam a better show. "You want to watch me? Watch me." He nudges Sam's thigh with his toes, and it sends a warm shock through Sam's system. "From over there," he orders.

 _Bossy,_ Sam thinks. Jensen has one thing in common with Dean, at least.

He does as he's told and backs up two steps to lean against the wall. He strokes himself gently, though it's not going to take much. "Come on, man. Quit teasing me."

"Like what you see?" Jensen's skin has taken on this flush that makes Sam's mouth water. He wants to lick every inch of him.

"More than I should," he admits.

That brings a low, dirty chuckle that curls in Sam's belly. "I hear you." His eyes, at half mast, travel over Sam's body in a slow, appreciative glance. He's stroking himself steadily now, the head of his dick getting shiny in the lamplight, the faint hint of sweat at his throat and the creases of his thighs. Sam can see the vein underneath Jensen's cock beginning to show as his arousal grows. "Well, we'll make it count then. What do you say?"

Sam spreads his legs and cants his hips a little, unable to keep from giving his dick a few consolatory strokes. Fuck, he is going to have no trouble at all getting it up again for Jensen, and it's a really good thing that they're doing this first, or he wouldn't last thirty seconds. 

Jensen rocks his hips up slow, finding a rhythm. He never takes his eyes off Sam; his gaze feels hot against Sam's skin, and Sam finds himself wanting to touch everywhere Jensen looks. He does, fingertips brushing his left nipple, then down his belly while his right hand smooths the hard line of his dick, fingers curling gently around his balls on the downstroke. Jensen's ass clenches and unclenches as he thrusts slowly into his own fist until finally a sound escapes his chest that makes Sam's dick throb, and Jensen's eyes flutter shut for a second.

When they open, his lips are parted, his breathing rushed. "Fuck, man. I am gonna go off like a cuckoo shell."

"That so?"

"Yeah. Seriously." Jensen pulls his balls up, reaching down with his other hand to finger himself. Another soft moan escapes him. "Can't stop thinking about you fucking me."

A fresh blurt of precome wets Sam's fingers, and he spreads it down over his dick. He licks his lips. He wants to go over there and flip Jensen over, haul him down the bed by his ankles and lick him into inchoherency, then fuck him until he can't move. His fist tightens. "Let me see," he says hoarsely.

Jensen pulls his knees up, baring himself to Sam's hungry gaze. Jensen's right hand keeps up the steady rhythm, all four fingers of his left making slow circles around his ass. His balls are drawn up tight, now. As Sam watches, he starts fingering himself faster, massaging his hole in time with his strokes, then palms the head of his cock and spreads the slickness around. "You close?" he says, low. There's a strained note in his voice that Sam instantly wants more of.

"Been close," Sam admits. He's stroking himself in rhythm with Jensen now, struggling to keep his touch light. "Gonna fuckin' go off if you keep doing that."

"What, this?" Jensen lifts his thighs and gives Sam a full-on view, spreading himself wide open. "Or this?" He dips his fingers into his own slick and circles the tip, then sticks all three fingers into his mouth.

"All of it." He watches Jensen suck on his fingers, and the visceral jolt to his dick is almost more than he can take. "That, especially."

Jensen's eyes sweep over him, obviously enjoying the view. He sucks his fingers one last time, slips them out of his mouth, and reaches out. He says, "C'mere."

He doesn't have to ask twice. When Sam's standing over him, knees against the edge of the bed, Jensen curls his hand around Sam's thigh. "Right there. So I can see."

Sam's grip tightens involuntarily. He has to bite back the name that's on the tip of his tongue. He's aching right now, his legs unsteady, and trying not to show it. "You want me to—?"

"Fucking come on me, man. You know you want to."

It's embarrassing, how wet he is, how he's getting slick all over himself and the bedspread, but Sam is helpless in the face of how much he wants exactly what Jensen's asking for. Just the thought of it is almost enough to make him come. He doesn't even have words for all the ways he's gone beyond the pale with this, but yeah, he wants it.

He spreads his legs and leans on the bed for balance, reaching down without thought to lace his fingers with Jensen's against his thigh. He feels huge, hot to his own touch, and his first real stroke makes him suppress a shudder of relief. "Like this?" he asks. He thrusts his hips a little, clenching his ass, and wants to moan at the shiver of mounting pleasure. Fuck, he is going to make one hell of a mess, here.

"So hot," Jensen says. His fingers curl in Sam's. He thrusts his own hips, stroking himself with open need, then nods toward Sam's dick. "Come on."

Sam follows suit, and he's close, now. It's been so long since he felt like this, since he was even able to. He'd forgotten. A few more strokes and his hips are moving now of their own volition, his hole clenching as he feels the pull of his own need, his hand rough but wet with his slick and so fucking good.

"You gonna come for me?" Jensen asks. That strained note is thick in his voice now, and Sam shivers.

"Yeah," he manages, chest tight and his body singing. Saying it almost makes it true.

"Good, man. Yeah. That's it," Jensen murmurs, and he's right, Sam is done for. He comes with a choked cry, knees giving out, pleasure seizing him.

His come hits Jensen across the belly, then the chest, and on the second spatter Jensen gives a gasp and tenses up—then lets go with a rough groan, hips rocking up with the force of his orgasm, his own fluid mingling with Sam's in hard spurts. His fingers twist in Sam's but don't let go, and he makes the same sound again, softer this time. It wrenches hard at Sam's gut. He's still coming, a third spatter and a fourth across Jensen's naked skin, the last hitting his face and throat. Jensen loves it, if the way he's writhing on the bed means anything.

Sam loses the plot for a while there; when it's over, they're both panting. Jensen finally lets out a shaky laugh. He untangles his fingers and pats Sam on the leg, then wipes Sam's come off his cheek with his fingertips. "Very nice."

Breathless, trying to remember how to stand upright without support, Sam laughs, too. "Glad I could help."

Jensen reaches out and grasps Sam's cock, still hard and twitching; Sam flinches, then shivers at the overstimulation.

"Still want you to fuck me," Jensen tells him.

"Still planning on it," Sam counters. "Give me two minutes."

"Take your time," says Jensen, in a tone that says he means it.

* * *

Sam does take his time, and he makes it count.

* * *

Wiped out, fucked out, and content, Jensen reaches across Sam's body for the mason jar of thick white stuff and dips a finger in, rubbing some of it between his finger and thumb.

"What is this stuff, anyway? Library paste?" At Sam's wry expression, Jensen jerks a little and stares. "You're kidding me. It is, isn't it? It's fucking library paste."

"Archival library paste," Sam corrects him. "Don't worry, it won't hurt you. It's the same stuff they put in K-Y." He wishes he had a camera to record Jensen's face.

"Dean's right," Jensen says when he can find words. "You are a nerd. But a sexy nerd, with impressive life skills."

"You think?"

"Definitely. Improvising lube from library supplies? That's top tier."

Jensen settles back against him, and Sam's a little surprised that he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. Not that he's complaining.

Once Jensen's back home, he won't work the spell again. Jensen's so much better off far away from him, in a world with no angels, demons, or monsters. But Dean and Kevin won't be back until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, and he'll take what he can get.


End file.
